Arathorn's Tale
by Rane Edwards
Summary: Life and History of an NPC character in my Morrowind RP on Myspace
1. Chapter 1: The Arival

Whether it was late or early, the skies clear or clouded, such was unknown to him as he lay silently in his hammock. The dim, dank bowels of the Imperial Prison Ship hid such things from him. Looking about at his fellow inmates, he sighed. Partial with relief as for this trip would be his release, but at the same time, distrought by the facts that several friends lay in this place only to be delivered into another infested cell. Just then he heard the latch of the door clank as it unlocked, soon openning as several guards walked in. The lead, a Redgurad with graying almost shaven hair as groomed goatee peered around, soon pointing a sharp finger at him

"Right there!" He said in a deep, commanding tone.

"Yes sir." Responded one of the other men as they walked across the ship's floor with heavy steps. Stopping right beside his bed, the Cyrodiil turned. "Inmate Arathorn Faucher, sit up..." Yawning, Arathorn swung his legs out of the hammock, settling them on the floor as he followed orders. Looking the man over, the guard continued to unshackle his wrists and ankles, noticing the orange and yellow tattoos upn each upper arm. "Nice tattoos... meanings?"

"They're Azurian" Arathorn said, standing as he was patted down for contraband.

"You're clean, follow the commander up to the deck."

"Whatever..." Arathorn stretched before heading for the hatch, following the Redguard upthe stairs to the main level and soon to the hatch to the deck when he was turned to the plank leading to the dock. "My belongings that I was promised?" The guard rolled his eyes, grabbing a small, narrow box, handing it to him. Walking down the plank, despite being semi blinded by the brightess of the sun that had been long hidden from him, a grin crept across his lips. Finally holding his prized possession, he felt at ease, having paid every cent in his name back in Cyrodiil to the guards just to have this one item returned to him. Meeting a guard on the docks, he was escorted then to the doors of the Census and Excise Office. Upon entering, he was greeted by Duvianus Platorius, having replaced the late-Socucius Ergalla

"Greetings, we've been awaiting your arrival" Duvianus stated, seated at his desk with a scroll, quil ad ink "If you would, I need your full name, race age and sign... seeing as you are being released, you will be allowed to change your name to start a new life"

"Arathorn... no last name, I am an Azurian, born under the constellation of the Lady" He stated as the man scribbled down the information. Perking his head up as Arathorn said Azurian, the man raised a brow.

"Azurian?" He asked coyly

"Yes, Azurian... the purest blood of Bretons, not watered down to what the breton has become through intermating with cyrodiils and nords..."

"I see... well Mr. Arathorn..." Duvianus looked over his papers, "All I need is a date of birth..."

"Sun's Dawn 23, 353"

"That would make you 73?" The Cyrodiil looked at him in disbelief before writing the date down.

"Like I said, Azurian blood isn't watered down," Arathorn nodded with a smirk. The man handing him his release information, a guard took his arm, leading him on through the building and outside. Squinting his eyes as the sun was stilll new ever since the prisons, Arathorn raised an arm to block its rays, making his way for the second building where he was greeted by a man in a full templar's uniform. Holding his hand out, the Templar requested his papers politely before he nodded, handing them to him.

"Ah, a free man now? You must be pretty happy... I wish you well in your new life" The templar said, handing him a small pouch of gold.

"Indeed I am, thank you, sir..." Arathorn bowed, taking the pouch before heading outside.

"Hello Mister…" Came a small voice. Raising a brow, Arathorn looked about, seeing none. Only looking down would he see a small bosmer child staring up at him with beady eyes and golden hued locks. "… whats in the box?" He asked innocently.

"Don't worry about it, kid. Go play with your friends…" Arathorn responded, before letting out a long yawn

"If your tired, Mister… lots of outlanders sometimes sleep up on the lighthouse… guards don't normally go up there…"

"Thanks…" Arathorn nodded a bow to the child before heading across the patch of marshy land; passing a guard and a few kids before reaching the lighthouse, just off on the edge of the small town. The plankboards creaking under his foot as he neared the door, it suddenly opened slowly, an Altmer appearing from the dimness within.

"Hello… I assume you are seeking shelter," She said, looking him over with tired eyes, her golden hued flesh defined in folded wrinkles with her grayed hair tied up in a bun, a few stray hairs trailing down her face. Straightening her old, brown robes, she stepped back, opening the door more to allow him to pass in. Shutting the door, she gave him a bow of the head as he looked around, a few other derelicts laying about sleeping. A bosmer in a corner, a breton with his daughter slept below the stairs and a Cyrodiil lay up on a couple of crates. "I apologize for not having more beds… There's one, but I allowed a poor argonian lad use it, he traveled for so long, I thought it right…"

"No…" Arathorn said, "you are kind to offer your space however little you have to people in need… I will be fine upstairs, outside… been awhile since I've tasted fresh air anyways…"

"I don't mean to bother… but might I inquire?"

"It's in the past now… mistakes made that can not be undone… no matter how hard I wish." Looking down, Arathorn sighed, shifting the box under his arm before climbing the stairs. Passing the argonian, he noticed the bracer on his wrist as he whispered to himself, "Figures." Squatting beside him, he tapped the man's scaley arm, waking him with a panicked startle. "Shush, it's fine… give me your arm." Holding out his hand, the argonian looked at him oddly before setting his arm in Arathorn's hand. Looking on the floor, Arathorn found a bent nail, jamming it into the lock of the bracer as he probed around for a minute, finally hearing a click as the bracer fell loose. Setting the bracer under the bed, he rose, turning to the door when the lizard suddenly grabbed his arm.

"Thank you…" he hissed.

"Get some rest." He bowed before heading outside. Climbing up a small length of stair, he lay down on a tier just below the roof where the fire burned for the lighthouse. Trying to get his head comfortable on the stone, he yawned, looking up at the sky. Before long, the sky was blocked by a lizard's head, handing him a pillow and blanket before the argonian exslave returned inside. Arathorn smiled, setting up for bed, drifting off to sleep.


	2. Chapter 2: New Life

Waking, Arathorn sat up, stretching his arms with a yawn as the scene focused within his tired eyes. It was late, well into the early more as far as he could gather. The guards paced about the town with their torches and just then something caught his eyes. A short man… a bosmer, crouched about as he snuck about, heading for a stump in a small marsh pool.

"Hmm…" Arathorn rubbed his chin, standing as he leapt off the landing, grabbing the edge to swing himself into a branch of the nearby tree, climbing down. Once on solid ground, he snuck towards the bosmer, watching him. Once the woodelf was gone, Arathorn grinned, sneaking up to the tree as he reached in; wrapping his fingers around a pouch, he took it out before dashing off into the cover of night. Hiding along the northern edges of town, he crocuhed by a flat top rock as he emptied the contents of the bag. To his appeasement, he smiled, finding a ring, emerald and about three-hundred septims. Quickly, he scooped them into the bag, tieing it to his rope belt as he heard a twig snap. Just then, he felt a sudden electric pain as he fell forward, all going dark.

Hours had passed unknown to him. Waking up, Arathorn's vison blured as he felt a stinging on the back of his head on the right from where the club had struck him. Laying down on cold, moist stone, he listened to the droplets of water off stalagmites and murmers from within the cave. Soon came to him an feline purr of a voice. "Its awake..." His vision focusing, Arathorn found himself under the watch of three Khajiit, two

females, one male... a fourth watching the gate while several Argonians slept in the back of the cell. Slowly standing, he stumbled a bit as one of the females grabbed his arm in aid.

"Carrreful... the masterrr's took quite a wailing on yourrr head... I am Ayisha..." The feline purred softly, moving his arm over the back of her neck to help him stand as the male watching them walked over to his bedroll. Arathorn smiled, leaning against the bipedal cat, her fur was nice and warm compared to the floor he was just on. Waiting a moment, he attempted to stand.

"Wh-where am I?" He asked, stumbling once as he regained balance.

"Addamasartus..." Said the male at the door, Ri'Jirr. "They catch us off just off the boats that drop us in Seyda Neen... enslave us. You are the first of men captured" With an almost regal gleam in his green eyes, the cat looked to Arathorn."

"Well I've been given a new chance at life... and its not going to start as a slave" Gathering himself, he looked to the rickety gate. Running quickly, he swung his fist hard with a warcry, striking the plank alongside the lock. Hearing the wood splinter, he felt his knuckles tear, warm red bloodseeping against the wood. Stepping back, he held his hand against his chest, his hair falling over his face as he lowered his gaze, focusing out of the pain. Ayisha looked over him in concern as she tore a scrap off the hem of her skirt, using it to bandage his fist.

"Therrre's nothing we can do now...once the bracerrr on, all hope lost... we can prrray only be taken by masterrrs who will treat well." She said with a sigh, hearing a set of heavy leather boots and a pair of shoes walking up the plank stairs, near. Soon came Tanisie Verethi, a dunmer woman with long red locks tied back, dressed in netch leathers; with her came Cyrus Hawker, a dark-skinned, wiry-haired redguard dressed in fine cloths, carrying a silver longsword at his side.

"This way sir... we have a fine selection of slaves." Tanisie said, leading him for the gate. seeing the split in the wood, she glared. "Which one of you s'wits did this?! hmm? Who tried to get out?!" She demanded, drawing an iron dagger and keys."

"That would be me..." Rising as he saw opportunity, Arathorn charged the gate, stopping suddenly as he shifted the energy into his rising foot before kicking forward at the crack. Instantly, the gate burst open with a loud splintering crack. Once the gate was open, he turned his attention to the smuggler, grabbing the wrist of her blade hand, the other grabbing her throat as he smashed her back over onto a crate. Shooting his gaze to the redguard as he choked the smuggler, he noticed the man did not draw his weapon. Rather he folded his arms across his chest, watching with a cold smirk. Just then, he felt a cold pain in his side, feeling his body tense from the paralyzing dart thrown from the stairs by a male dunmer. Tanisie able to sleep free now, fell to the floor, choking for air.

"I apologize, sir... we will have him put down immidiately" Melar said, walking towards them.

"No..." Cyrus sneered, "... I will take him... seems to be what I need. If I am to reopen the mines at the Starstone Outpost, I will need someone to exterminate the creatures within. Nasty eightlegged beasts. I will take the breton... and her..." He smirked, pointing into the gate at Ayisha. Reaching into his coat, he took out a pouch of gold, tossing it to Melar. With a grin, Melar nodded, taking out a scroll of pappers, filling them out before passing them to the redguard.

"They're yours, my lord..."

Within a day's time, Arathorn found himself in the back of a guar-driven wagon along a bumpy dirt road, laying his head in the lap of the Khajiit who ran her claws through his hair as he rested. The sun shining above, the Outpost appeared ahead on the horizon when Cyrus looked back. "Wake him up..." He ordered as Ayisha shook him alittle.

"Masterrr needs you..." She purred into his ear with a nuzzle. Openning his eyes slowly, Arathorn looked to him before closing his eyes again.

"What is it?" He snapped

"First, it will be a respectful tone... secondly... if you clear these mines... I will free you and give you a job in the mines with a fair pay..."

"What about her?"

"You can use her as bait down there..." Cyrus laughed as Ayisha shivered, looking to him fearfully.

"No! I want her freedom with mine..." Arathorn narrowed his eyes as he sat up.

"Heh... you're in no position to negotiate, slave..."

"Think so? Seems that without me, you have no mine with those things in there." Cyrus narrowed his eyes at Arathorn's truthful point.

"Clear it, you're free, work and buy her off me..." Cyrus snapped. Arathorn nodded, laying back down as Ayisha stroked his hair, sending him slowly into a soft sleep.


End file.
